


Proud of Him

by lasairfhiona



Category: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasairfhiona/pseuds/lasairfhiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee is proud of Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proud of Him

Thanks to Hayley for keeping me honest with the characters, Zerena for her edits and Bast for doing what she always does and not letting me get a way with things others do. Any other mistakes are clearly mine.

This was inspired by a little tidbit I found when looking for a character sketch on Harry and stumbled across a page off the Richard Basehart site -- it said in 1976 Harry won the Nobel prize -- well that sent the plot bunnies running and clamouring for attention -- this is the result. If you want to know more about the Nobel Prize and the ceremony you can check here: http://www.nobel.se/

 

I was with him when he received the letter and watched as he read. Afterward he just sat there in his big leather chair, silently holding the letter with a slight tremble. The longer he sat there, the more worried I became. I wondered if it wasn't some bad news, maybe something had happened to Edith or something regarding NIMR. When he finally handed me the letter with a shaking hand and a breathless, "Read this," I was as stunned as he was.

The Nobel Prize. The letter said they were awarding the Nobel Prize to Admiral Harriman Nelson for his contribution to Marine Biology and Marine research and wanted him to come to Stockholm in December to receive his medal. "Wow," I finally managed to whisper.

A breathy "yeah," was his only reply.

Now in my opinion, Harry deserved nothing less for all the hard work he's put in over the years for both the scientific community and the military. I will admit though, I am hardly an unbiased person when it comes to Harriman Nelson. I loved him for far longer than the few years he and I have been lovers.

When it came time to make his arrangements to fly to Stockholm and give his guest list and seating instructions to the organizing committee, there had been no question in either of our minds that I, and his sister Edith, would accompany him. Edith bowed of out attending the formal banquet but she would sit with me during the ceremony itself. The committee questioned his decision to have me as his personal guest during all of the festivities, suggesting he bring his sister as his 'date' instead of a co-worker. I was proud of the way Harry kept a rein on his volatile temper and politely, but firmly, informed them that since I captained the submarine that made his research possible I would attending with him. They wisely didn't question him again.

I sat in the concert hall a few hours ago with Edith and held her hand as we listened to Harry's name being called.

"Admiral Harriman Nelson, Ph.D."

We watched proudly and Edith dabbed a hankie to her eyes to wipe the tears away. I must admit, the joy and pride I felt in Harry was so palatable it made me wipe a tear or two from my eyes as well. Edith just handed me a tissue without saying a word as Harry walked across the stage with his red hair gleaming in the bright light and received his medal from the new monarch of Sweden, King Carl XVI Gustaf.

I am filled with a sense of pride in Harry that rivals the love I feel for him. It is long past time he is recognized for the work he has devoted his life to. Harry loves the Navy but it is just a vehicle for him to access his true passion -- the ocean and his quest for knowledge of how the sea and its inhabitants could better our lives.

Edith and I joined the throng of family members and well wishers on stage after all the awards were presented and rode together with Harry in the limousine that carried us from the concert hall to the City Hall where the banquet was being held. She kissed him and bid us a good night before slipping into the crowd, leaving us to make our way into the banquet and through the receiving line with the king alone.

I stood silently just behind Harry through the course of the evening as he met many important scientists and accepted congratulations from those who he knew personally or those who just knew of his work.

Once dinner was over, it was speech time and we sat quietly listening to the other Nobel Laureates give their speeches, some full of thanks to their colleagues and other full of anecdotes from their work. Harry's gone up to give his now. I don't listen to it, I know what he's going to say, who he's gong to thank and what tale he will tell. I've heard it in every incarnation and experienced most of the stories he will tell about first hand - the most recent version being last night as we lay in bed, my head resting on his chest, his words vibrating against my cheek as I combed my fingers through his rust colored chest hair. Occasionally I would stop him, giving him suggestion for better phrasing.

I tease Harry sometimes, telling him the only reason he keeps me around is to help him edit his letters and help him keep his sometimes explosive temper in check.

When he finally put the speech aside last night, deeming it 'as good as it's going to get', I took him in my arms and proceeded to show him by touch how much he meant to me. No part of his chest was left untouched, uncaressed, or unkissed. I followed the line of dark red hair down to his groin as he spread his legs to allow me easier access to his most intimate area. Bypassing his thick swollen cock, I nibbled on his sensitive inner thighs, eliciting a moan with each nip before dipping my tongue lower to touch the sensitive opening to his body.

Harry loves when I do that to him so I continued alternately flicking my tongue across the sensitive pucker and taking long licks up the underside of his balls until he cried for me to take him - to make love to him... Which I did, entering him slowly, watching his eyes dilate with pleasure when my cock brushed against that sweet spot inside him. I stroked his thick shaft in time with every move I made in and out of him -- long, slow strokes combined with hard and fast ones. When I felt my own impending orgasm I made sure Harry came right along with me, leaving us curled together sated and very happy.

I can't help but smile at the memory of last night as I watch him finish his speech and make his way back to his seat at my side. He has a slight waddle to his step that is a reminder for both of us that he was well loved last night.

"Did you listen?" he asks once he is once again seated next to me.

I shook my head. "No. I had something else on my mind," I tell him quietly.

He turns and looks at me. I can see the question 'what is more important?' in his eyes before he asks, "What?"

"You," I tell him, then lowering my voice I add quietly, "and last night."

I see his slight blush as I lean over and whisper, "I love you," into his ear, allowing my lips to brush the rim of his ear. I know what the feather light touch will do to him and if I play my cards right in our game of suggestive teasing I will get the same treatment I gave him. Maybe he will even let us skip the rest of the festivities planned and have a private celebration in our suite.

"I couldn't do it without you," he leans toward me and whispers in my ear as if he knows that my 'I love you' is saying more than it seems and he would be right.

Someone else has replaced Harry at the podium now and everyone's attention is on the new Nobel Laureate. Except mine - my attention is focused on Harry reaching under the table. Clasping his hand, I give it a squeeze. There is so much I want to say to him. I want to tell him how proud of him I am. How proud it makes me to be here to see him receive the recognition he so richly deserves. But the words 'I'm proud of you' seem too pale next to the pride I feel for Harry.

He always tells me he couldn't do it without me. I haven't decided how true it is or not. Harry is the dreamer, he always has been long before I met him on the Nautilus. He's the one who comes up with the wild ideas and makes them a reality. I'm the pragmatic one. I keep him grounded when he gets so involved in his work he forgets about everything else. If that is what he means then I am glad I can be there for him -- content to sit in the shadows while he achieves greatness. It works for us, it always has, before we became lovers and even more so afterward.

I lean over again and whisper in his ear, "I'm proud of you," I tell him, deciding that maybe those words are enough to convey the deeper meaning for now. Later when I can hold him in my arms I will tell him the rest.

 

END


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